Buns Buns Buns Buns

As you could probably tell, I haven't been updating much. Here's my reasoning: I'm not as bored. Well, yes I am, but when I am my internet coincidentally decided not to work. This of course implies that inanimate objects and conceptual happenstance have the ability to think and make decisions for themselves, which is not seeming like such a bad theory lately, as everything seems to be against me. My god damned smoke detector has been fucking beeping on and off for a few weeks now and I can't figure out how to shut the fucking thing up.

But that's not worth being discussed today, because today was the first day of my new job. That's right, folks: I work. I used to work at an old folks home, serving the folkles they's food and telling them to shut up before we beat them into doing what we want. Now, I work at a gas station! Yay! And what a joy it has been. It's only been my first day, and already an immaculate sense of overwhelming pride has rushed over me. Today was stock day, where all the new shipments come in and we need to inventory, price, and shelve each individual item. Talk about baptism by fire, baby! Learning the reg as you frantically figure out where the Mike and Ike's go is like a chariot race in your pants, and it's a tie. As the line of people rises to two, four, eight, the pressure builds like a volcano and the magnanimous joy rises like napalm evicting itself from your colon while being thrown from a moving truck. The convenience store is a magical place. Where the hungover serve the currently drunk, then proceed to get drunk themselves after work as congragulations for getting through the day. Where an old woman can feel good after being carded, and a young woman can feel angry after the very same thing. Where coworkers share not only their interesting cat and fatigue stories, but also the pictures of hot women and 50 Cent they downloaded to their headset cell phone. Where puppies not only adorn the mousepads in the back office, but the calendars and the silly work-related quips on the wall. Where the bathroom key is a butter knife, on account of the last person to use it breaking the key off in the door handle. Where a gift from the heavens reveals itself as a bag of black licorice that rips open while stocking. Yes, as Dr. Pepper coursed through my already caffiene soaked veins, I realized that waking up at 5 and working until 3 is not rally so bad, especially considering what my bladder must be going through. For lunch, I microwaved a leftover hamburger, polished off with Dr. Pepper, Ho-Hos, and more Dr. Pepper. But really, I was feasting on progress and dignity. People of all ages, races, colors, creeds, ideals and heights (but not diets) entered the store to procure the items necessary for the day ahead, and I was the one to provide them with these necessities. I made an old kindly mans day by smiling. He actually told me I made his day, and this made my day that I had made his day. Days were made that day; days were made. Finally being a man on the inside, I was able to determine that the bathroom does not contain a two-way mirror in which shop owners watch me do my naked pre-piss ritualistic dancing in front of it, and that I need not flick off the potential peeper behind the glass. Ah, finally I may dance in peace, rather than in pees.

All in all, a good, long, hard day was had. Now I just have to do more of them. I'm sure my tone will change by the end of the week.